


the sweet life and the silence

by rufeepeach



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Femslash, frozen swan, past swanfire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 02:18:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2715326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufeepeach/pseuds/rufeepeach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of all people in town, Emma should have guessed that it would be Elsa to get under her skin and force her to open up. She might even have called the long discussion of loss, grief, guilt and longing, and living with uncontrollable magic, unwanted responsibility, and a broken heart all at once.</p><p>What she hadn't expected, however, was to end the night cuddling in her bed, with the taste of Elsa's lips still fresh in her mouth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the sweet life and the silence

**Author's Note:**

> This is Frozen Swan with strong past Swanfire, and not a fic that's at all kind to Captain Swan. So don't say I didn't warn you!

“He takes after you.” 

Elsa’s words came out of nowhere, the TV having fallen silent and the apartment quiet and still without its noise. David and Mary Margaret went to bed a while ago, and Henry’s just followed their example, having spent the last three nights in his old room at Regina’s. Elsa’s eyes are on his retreating back as she speaks.

Emma shrugged, and pretended as if she doesn’t notice every day the things in him that are her, and the things that are not. “I guess,” she said, noncommittally. “He’s growing up. He looks like himself.”

“He looks like you,” Elsa smiled, as if she was being a bit silly, that smile she had that seemed to politely and gently slip right past every barrier Emma could put up, and saw clearly and kindly what lay beneath. They were very similar people, Emma supposed: it was natural that Elsa would see the gaps in her armour, since hers was so similar. That was why it felt like they’d known each other forever, as opposed to just a few weeks. “And you look like your mother. It’s that chin. Anna and I have our father’s jaw, and our mother’s nose. You can always tell family.”

Emma had to look down; she couldn’t meet Elsa’s eyes. Because of course there was someone else in Henry, and it didn’t bear thinking about that no one else would ever know it again. She was already hard pressed to see Henry’s bright smile and not see his father looking back at her, and his nose looked more like Neal’s every day. He was a perfect mix of her side and his dad’s, and she’d rather not dwell on that for too long, not if she wanted any peace that night.

“Yeah,” she said, shortly, “I guess you can.”

“He doesn’t look much like Killian though,” Elsa continued, as if puzzled, and Emma looked up at her in shock, for she hadn’t considered that anyone wouldn’t realise that Killian had no more biological link to Henry than Elsa herself did. “He looks more like Mr Gold, to tell the truth.”

“Yeah well, you look too hard,” Emma snapped back, and Elsa watched her closely, not shocked by the outburst but concerned for the purpose. Emma hated that: Elsa was too much like her to be fooled by her bad moods. After all, Elsa’s bad moods could lead to as much destruction as Emma’s could ever aspire to, and she’d seen every shade of bad that could come from that. Emma sighed, knowing she couldn’t win, and looked back up at her friend, “Killian’s not his father, by the way. I’ve only known him a year at most. Henry’s father… passed away.”

“Oh,” Elsa’s hand touched Emma’s shoulder in sympathy, and she was surprisingly warm for someone whose element was ice. “I’m so sorry. How long ago was it?”

“Three weeks maybe? A month?” Emma shook her head, wincing, and Elsa stared at her. Emma could tell what she was thinking – how awful must Emma be, for dating so soon after Neal’s death? To tell the truth, she’d caught herself thinking the same thing, when Killian’s back was turned and he couldn’t see the conflict on her face, the soreness in her soul, the lingering, terrible doubt that she didn’t love him, that she couldn’t, not with the intensity with which he professed to love her. The inescapable question of whether she was only with him because he, of all people, seemed impervious to the harm that had befallen every man who’d come before him; because he loved her, and he was safe, and she was lonely. And what kind of a terrible person would do that to someone, to anyone? Certainly not a Saviour, not the person Henry believed she was. “I don’t know, time gets kind of crazy around here. Not long.”

“I’m so sorry, Emma,” Elsa murmured, her rich voice filled with sympathy, “I know how hard it is to lose a loved one.”

“I know you do,” Emma nodded, and shot a small, genuine smile to the other woman, “I’m sorry, I should have said. I just… it’s easier not to think about it, you know? To focus on finding your sister and stopping this Snow Queen thing and throw myself into the next catastrophe, rather than think about the last two years in detail.”

“Have you had a chance to grieve?” Elsa asked, carefully, and Emma wondered if that question had ever occurred to anyone else, even to herself. “It’s important to feel it, you know? Not to… conceal it, and bury it deep. It’ll only come back worse if you let it fester like that.”

Emma laughed, a little bitterly, and shook her head, “Yeah, I have time to put my pyjamas on and spend a month in bed crying. I have a son to look after, and a town to protect, and no one seems to be able to go five minutes without needing my help. I think it’s best to just put the past behind me, and focus on the now.”

“You’re hurting, Emma,” Elsa said, gently. “I’m sorry, I know it’s not my place, but you are. Does Killian know how much pain you’re in?”

“I think so,” Emma bit her lip, and remembered the look on his face when he found that old picture of her and Neal when they were on the road, smiling and about to kiss. He’d looked almost guilty, and awkward, and not been able to meet her eyes. As if he felt it too, the presence that stood between them, intangible but enormous, the tacit acknowledgement that if Neal were there, Hook wouldn’t be. The knowledge that she’d never really considered him as a valid option until Neal was gone, and with him the old, unshakeable belief she’d carried with her for a decade that somehow, some way, they were destined to be together.

The sheer weight of her grief, of loss and pain and love, the love she still felt for him and always would, had threatened to overwhelm her, and Hook’s presence had been both a comfort and a burden, because for just a moment he felt like a cheap, too-soon replacement. “I don’t know. We don’t talk about it.”

“Why not?”

“Because how can we?” she demanded, trying desperately not to sound as tearful and fragile as she suddenly felt, “Seriously, how do you tell your boyfriend that you still lie awake crying over your dead ex? I don’t want to put that on him. He wants me to focus on the future, with him.”

“He wants you to forget, so you can look at him and not see a ghost stood in the way,” Elsa said, and Emma felt tears start to spill down her cheeks, because she was right. Elsa reached out, and pulled Emma into her arms, rocking her gently, and Emma started to sob in earnest, because she hadn’t since the day Neal died. Too busy fighting Zelena, being strong for Henry, saving the past from her own meddling, fighting with Regina, helping Elsa, being fine and happy and present for Hook… too busy focusing on everyone else, and avoiding the quiet and the dark. Running from the past. How long could she keep doing that, she wondered, before it caught up with her, and swallowed her whole?

“Is that okay?” Emma asked, after a long moment, her face buried in Elsa’s shoulder, and Elsa pulled back a little, smoothing Emma’s hair back and giving a reassuring, comforting smile that Emma closed her eyes to bask in.

“Is what okay?” she asked, opening her eyes again, and Elsa frowned in confusion. “For him to want me to move on,” Emma clarified. “Is it okay for him to want me to himself? To not want to share me with a ghost?”

“I think it’s okay as long as it’s for the right reasons,” Elsa said, diplomatically, after a brief pause. “If he’s doing it because he feels it’s time for you to embrace who you are now, and let go of that pain, then that’s much better than him doing it because he wants you to only have eyes for him, because he can’t handle you having your own feelings. You know him better than I do. You’re the only one who can judge that.”

“I…” Emma sighed, and slumped back against the sofa. Elsa kept stroking her hair, comfortingly, and it was wonderfully soothing as Emma tried to remember any time when Hook had stated his intentions that obliquely. “The day you arrived, he accused me of avoiding him. He claimed I spend too much time worrying about whatever crisis is happening to notice the good moments.”

“And do you?” Elsa asked, tucking loose strands behind Emma’s ear, “Are you incapable of noticing the good moments?”

“I don’t know,” Emma gave a little laugh, and opened her eyes a little, “I’m noticing this one okay.” 

Elsa laughed, her smile a slightly different than usual, smaller and warmer, a slight rosy tinge to her cheeks that wasn’t from any kind of cold. She looked away from Emma’s gaze, focusing on the hand that was stroking Emma’s hair, and Emma had to wonder why everything suddenly felt a little deeper and softer than she remembered. She tried to think of the last time she’d smiled like this with Hook, and was ashamed to find she couldn’t. On their trip to the past, maybe? Their date? Had she smiled much on their date, or had she spent too much time worrying and feeling guilty and wishing she was back in her leather jacket and boots?

What did it say about her that she was happier and more comfortable now, sat on her mother’s sofa, openly grieving for Neal with a friend she’d only known a few weejs, than on a date with her new boyfriend? The boyfriend who professed to love her enough to change everything about himself, to become a better man, just to win her heart?

It just felt good to have someone to talk to, someone who wouldn’t try to fix her like her parents would, or make some flirtatious remark like Hook, or make it about herself, like Regina: someone who seemed to really only care about Emma herself in this situation, and how she felt. She hadn’t had that since Mary Margaret became Snow White, and Emma hadn’t felt the loss of her best friend for her mother so keenly until now, when she had a friend again.

Except her heart hadn’t done a funny, too-fast beat when Mary Margaret had stroked her hair back from her face. But then she and Elsa had opened a bottle of wine when they’d dug in for the evening, a sort of ‘hallelujah we lived’ celebration, and so that might well have been it. It had to be: what else was there?

“There was just so much history there, you know?” she sighed. “With Neal and I, I mean. We met when I was seventeen, and we lived together in the back of my car… on the road, anyway, we lived on the road, just the two of us, for a year before it all went wrong.”

“What happened?” Elsa asked, softly, resuming her playing with Emma’s hair, and Emma smiled a little, leaning into her hand.

“It’s complicated,” she apologised, “I… I was fated, I guess, to be here on my twenty-eighth birthday, to break a curse. That’s why my mom and dad are the same age as me, they were trapped here my whole life, waiting for me. And there was a man who’d been charged with safeguarding that. He told Neal to leave me, because I had to be alone for the curse to break as it was supposed to. But Neal got screwed, because instead of just letting him vanish, August timed it so I’d be arrested, he’d make a lot of money, and I’d think Neal abandoned me.”

“He sounds like Hans,” Elsa made a face, and Emma frowned.

“Hans?”

“He tried to marry Anna so he could then kill me and make her Queen, so he could be King of Arendelle and kill her too the moment he had an heir. And made the whole kingdom think I was an unstoppable monster who had to be killed to save them all. He almost won, too… Anna’s pure heart was all that saved us.”

“Jesus,” Emma shook her head, “That’d give Regina a run for her money. August was just greedy, he didn’t mean for anyone to be seriously hurt.”

“But you were hurt,” Elsa noted, “Locked away from the man you loved, thinking he’d left you there? Did he come back?”

“No,” Emma whispered. “No, he didn’t. I had Henry, Regina adopted him, and I spent ten years… searching. I shouldn’t have, but I did. I…”

“You loved him,” Elsa nodded, “And you don’t give up on love.”

“Even when you think that the person you love has,” Emma agreed, the waterworks back with a vengeance. She wiped her tears away fiercely, and gave a wet little laugh. “I’m sorry, I’m crying all over you. I should just go to bed.”

“No, no it’s fine, Emma-“ Elsa caught Emma’s arm as she tried to stand up, and held her down, “I’m here if you want to keep talking. I don’t want you to feel like you’re alone. No one should have to feel like you do and face it alone.”

“Thank you,” Emma smiled, and hugged Elsa again, holding her close and enjoying the feel of her slim, soft body in her arms, and the sensation of being held in return. “But it’s okay. I’m okay.”

They both knew it was a lie, but Emma figured as long as neither of them said anything, they could both pretend it was true.

She rose to her feet, and this time Elsa let her. 

She heard the light in the living room go off a while later, and guessed that Elsa had gathered her blankets and pillows together and gone to sleep. She claimed not to care about the cold one way or the other, but Emma always came in to find her under three blankets come morning, curled up like a child, one hand under her head. It was sweet.

But for all the relief of having spoken to someone about how she felt, Emma only felt more churned up than ever. She tossed and turned, unable to sleep, guilt gnawing at her belly even as she tried, as she had every day since Neal’s funeral, to push the thoughts away from her. This was why Hook was so great, she thought, because he helped her to do that, to push away the pain and focus on the here and now. And that was good, wasn’t it? To move on?

Emma had spent her whole life picking herself up and moving on, pushing away any painful thought and just keeping moving, always moving. She and Neal had had that in common, hadn’t they? Except Neal hadn’t ignored his troubles, but faced them head-on. He knew what hurt and why, and he took that pain and looked it in the eye, and used it to help others. He’d taken a girl who’d never loved anyone or anything, who didn’t know how to have a home or to love another person properly, and given her a family. Even if it had only been for a little while, and even if he’d been too scared to come find her when he should have, that much was true. 

Did she feel guilty for not trusting Hook with this? Or because she’d kissed him not a month after Neal’s death, and done all she could since then to pretend everything was fine?

“What would you think of me now, Neal?” she whispered into the dark, staring at the ceiling and hoping there was a heaven up there somewhere, where he could hear her. “Would you think I’m a coward, like your dad? Did I abandon you?” she felt the tears start running down the sides of her head, wetting her ears and her hair, “I’m sorry,” she breathed, “I’m so sorry. I’m trying. I don’t know what to do.”

“Emma?” Elsa’s voice came from the other side of the door, and Emma started, “Emma, are you ok?”

“Yeah,” Emma croaked, trying to sound fine and not managing it at all, “Yeah, go back to sleep.”

“I wasn’t sleeping,” Elsa admitted. “Can… can I come in?”

Emma sighed, and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. It was all too much. It was all much, much too much, and for once, she couldn’t handle facing it all alone.

“Sure,” she said, “Come on in.”

She sat up in bed as Elsa crept around the doorframe, and closed it quietly behind her. She didn’t try to turn on the overhead light, for which Emma was grateful: she thought it’d probably hurt her head right then, anyway.

“Are you alright?” Elsa asked, a little more concern in her voice now she could see the tear tracks down Emma’s face. She sat down on the edge of the bed, and Emma hauled herself upright to face her. At some point Elsa had changed out of her blue gown and into the old sweatpants and t-shirt Emma had leant her for pyjamas, and for a moment – brief and odd and inexplicable – Emma liked seeing the other woman wearing her clothes. “What happened?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Emma looked down, but Elsa took her hands in both of hers, and Emma couldn’t keep her eyes on their hands. She needed this, more than anything: she needed someone to understand.

“I assume this is still about Neal?” Emma nodded, miserably, and Elsa grimaced, “I’m so sorry, Emma. I didn’t mean to stir up the past for you like this.”

“No, no,” Emma shook her head, violently, “it’s fine, I… you’re right. I haven’t dealt with it yet. But you’ve got way more important things to worry about than my problems. Go back to sleep.”

“I won’t find Anna tonight,” Elsa reminded her, softly, “and I don’t want my brave rescuer crying alone in her bed when I can help.”

“No one can help,” Emma muttered. “I mean, he’s dead, right? I got what I wanted. I all but asked for this.”

“What?” Elsa gasped, and stared at her, “What do you mean, what you wanted? You loved him!”

“Yeah but…” Emma sighed, and ran a shaky hand through her hair, “I thought he was dead a year earlier, and when he came back… I thought it was easier, with him gone for good. I could mourn him, know we’d loved each other and might have had a shot, and chalk it up to tragedy that it didn’t. I told him… I admitted, to break a spell, that it had been easier mourning him than hurting over how deeply I still loved him. I made this happen.”

“No, Emma,” Elsa squeezed her hand tightly, her free hand coming to stroke Emma’s hair again, pulling damp strands back from her face, “These things happen the way they happen. You didn’t bring this on him.”

“I talked to Belle,” Emma sobbed, “At the funeral, she’s… she was Neal’s stepmom. She was with him when it happened, when his fate got sealed. He was trying to get back to Henry and me, and it killed him. How is that not my fault?”

“My parents died looking for a way to save our kingdom from my magic,” Elsa told her, fiercely, “and I spent a long time feeling like their deaths were on my hands. Would you tell me that I was right to feel that way? That I killed my parents?”

“No,” Emma shook her head, “No, of course not.”

“Sometimes people do dangerous things, because they love too deeply not to. And it’s hard to deal with, and it feels like it’s your fault, because if you’d not been there or if they’d loved you less they’d be alive.”

“So how do you live with it?” Elsa gave an odd little half-smile, and shrugged.

“I spent three years locked in my room, then plunged the whole kingdom into a deadly perpetual winter, built an ice palace, nearly killed my sister twice, and ended up needing rescuing from her psychotic fiancé. I’d say my method’s not to be followed.”

Emma laughed, “Yeah, maybe there’s better ways than that.”

“Honouring his memory might be a better one,” Elsa suggested. “That’s what I wanted – want – to do, when everything’s back to normal. I want to rule their kingdom and continue their legacy, in a way they’d be proud of. They died for me but also for Anna and for their people. It’s my responsibility to look after them now, and to do it the best I possibly can.”

“I’ve not been doing that,” Emma admitted. “Honouring anyone, I mean. I… I’ve kind of been letting Hook push all of that out of my mind, pretending it doesn’t matter.”

“Would Neal want you two together?” Elsa asked, “I mean, you should be with whoever you want to be with, but if you feel he would have disapproved that might be why you feel so awful now.”

“I once gave that same advice,” Emma admitted, “If something you want to do feels wrong, then it probably is. And being with Hook… he loves me, and I’m not immune to him, but I didn’t choose him over Neal. In fact, the last time I saw Neal before he died, I was supposed to be going on a lunch date with him, but I never made it because everything kind of exploded. I was going to choose him over Hook.”

“And now you feel like you settled?”

“I feel like I looked around at the end of it all, and chose the last man standing,” Emma sighed, “And that’s awful, isn’t it? He loves me, and I’m trying to feel the same way and it’s not always hard, because he’s gorgeous and he loves me so much, but… sometimes I feel like I’m just grabbing at any solid ground I can find.”

“Do you want to do that?” Elsa asked, softly, looking down at their joined hands and allowing Emma reprieve from that piercing blue-eyed gaze, “to grasp at solid ground because you’re too afraid to fall.”

“It takes ten seconds to fall apart,” Emma told her, “and ten years to rebuild.”

“Or you could fall into something better,” Elsa suggested, still not meeting her eyes, “you could build something of your own, your own solid ground.”

“Easy for you to say,” Emma snorted, “you’ve got the power to make mountains whenever you feel like it.”

Elsa snickered quietly at that, and conceded the point. When her eyes met Emma’s again they were full of so much warmth that Emma could barely breathe, and for a moment her tears abated, and the world melted away, and there was nothing else.

“I… yeah,” Emma gathered her scattered wits, trying not to linger too long on that weird moment while Elsa seemed to do the same. “I’m sorry, I don’t even know where to begin doing that.”

“You start by letting people in,” Elsa told her, “letting people see how weak you feel sometimes, and allowing them to help you. Do you do that, honestly?”

“I…” Emma wanted to say yes, of course she did: she told her parents as much as she could, and she leaned her head on Killian’s shoulder when she needed a break, and even Regina had seen more of her weak spots than she’d ever imagined showing her. But actually letting her walls down? Showing weakness and asking for honest help? That was much, much harder.

Except, apparently, for tonight. 

“You’re too busy being a hero,” Elsa sighed, and one hand rose from between them to cup Emma’s face, stroking her cheekbone with the side of her thumb, and Emma swore she’d forgotten to breathe. Elsa’s smile was so tender as she comforted her, and Emma couldn’t help leaning into the touch, gathering all the strength she could from Elsa’s cool palm. “You’re so strong, Emma, and so brave, so wonderful. You saved me and you save everyone else every day of your life. But that isn’t all you are.”

“It isn’t?” Emma asked, a little distractedly, and Elsa shook her head.

“Of course not,” she said, “you’re also a sweet, kind, caring young woman with a warm, soft heart that’s been broken more times than you can count. You deserve more than a battlefield, Emma. You deserve more than just what you can salvage.”

“Thank you,” Emma murmured, close to crying once again because she couldn’t remember the last time anyone had said anything like that to her, not even her parents. Elsa’s hand drifted back into her hair, combing gently through the strands, and nothing had felt so comforting in a long time. “I… I don’t know anymore. Maybe I never knew.”

“Knew what?”

“What I want? What I think I deserve? Whether I even want to be the Saviour, because there was a time before the first Curse broke when I really didn’t.”

“Oh, Emma,” Elsa laughed, softly and warmly, “no one knows those things. I didn’t want to be Queen for a long time; the idea still terrifies me to be honest. And anyone who says they really know what they want is either evil or lying to themselves.” Emma laughed at that, and nodded, because it was true. “The important thing is to accept how you feel, the good and the bad, and to allow those who care about you to help you carry it.”

“Wow,” Emma murmured, “getting stuck in that vase really made you wise, huh?”

“I guess I had time to reflect,” Elsa shrugged, grinning, “And Anna helped a lot with all of that. I guess I just look at you and see myself in that ice palace, alone and hurting and full of power, trying not to let anyone else get hurt and not realising that I was the one in need of rescue. “

Emma nodded, and there was another of those warm, strange moments, when her eyes and Elsa’s met once more and held for a few seconds too long, and she couldn’t quite look away. Then Elsa’s hand dropped from her hair back to her lap, and she stood quickly, “I should be going,” she said, awkwardly, “let you get some rest.”

She was right, of course: Emma was exhausted and massively in need of a night’s sleep, but she knew the moment Elsa left she’d be right back where she had been before, staring at the ceiling and sobbing in the dark, unable to let sleeping ghosts lie.

“Elsa?” she said, not looking at the other woman, her eyes fixed on her feet beneath the covers. 

“Yes?”

“Would you… would you stay with me?” Emma asked, haltingly, “Just for tonight? I don’t want to be alone with this.”

Elsa sighed, deeply, and it sounded a lot like a sigh of relief. Then the bed compressed again next to Emma, and she nudged her affectionately with her elbow, “Move over then,” she said, “give me some room.”

Emma laughed a little wetly and nodded, scooting over and allowing room for Elsa to slip under the covers. After a moment they both lay back, and Emma rolled onto her side, somehow unsurprised and oddly pleased when Elsa spooned up behind her instantly and wrapped an arm around her waist. “Sleep well, Emma,” Elsa murmured, after a few minutes of peaceful silence, and pressed a soothing kiss to Emma’s temple. 

Sparks shot through Emma from the place Elsa’s lips had touched all the way to her toes, and she tensed in place for just a second before she forced herself to relax. Elsa clearly saw Emma as another Anna: there was nothing more to it than that. The disappointment Emma felt at the thought was emotional hangover, and Elsa would roll over soon and away from her, and the heat radiating from every point of contact between Elsa’s body and hers would fade.

Emma cuddled closer without thinking, and a moment later, another cautious kiss was pressed to her cheek, a little closer into her face, a little less innocent. Emma could feel Elsa’s breath on her cheek, her arm heavy and warm and wonderful around her waist and Elsa’s slender body pressed against her back. She hadn’t moved back; she was waiting for something.

On sheer instinct, Emma leaned around, and a split second later her mouth had met Elsa’s. It was an awkward angle, and for a moment both women were stunned still with utter shock, before Emma took the initiative and started to kiss Elsa in earnest, the warm, sweet pressure of Elsa’s mouth on hers washing all doubt, all shock, all pain from her mind for a few wondrous seconds. Elsa returned the kiss tentatively, her movements unpracticed but sweet and genuine. Her lips were far softer and more pliant than Killian’s, than any man Emma had ever kissed, and Emma smiled at Elsa’s little whimper as they finally parted. She was beautiful, Emma thought, as her eyes drifted open, all kiss-swollen lips and wide, surprised eyes. She wanted to kiss her again.

She wanted to kiss Elsa again.

She’d just kissed Elsa. She’d asked her to share her bed for the night, and then taken innocent, sisterly comfort and turned it into something else. Something Elsa might not even want. Something Emma couldn’t want, because she was with Killian and she was grieving for Neal.

But she did want. In that moment, right then, she wanted. She wanted to kiss Elsa’s soft, sweet lips again and again, and see her smile, and feel that lithe, warm body pressed even closer than it was now.

And she had no idea what that meant. so instead of saying another word, she rolled onto her side, closed her eyes, and sighed with exhaustion, hoping Elsa would take the hint and sleep too.

“Goodnight, Emma,” Elsa whispered, voice full of wonder and confusion and something warmer and deeper, something Emma couldn’t help hoping was affection, even desire. The same desire Emma couldn’t understand feeling herself. She’d never really been into girls, but that kiss, and the heat still thrumming through her veins and making her pulse race now at the very feeling of Elsa pressed against her back, were begging to differ.

“Goodnight,” she whispered back, and hoped it’d all make more sense in the morning.


End file.
